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“Oh, so you’re actually still alive?”
This asinine bard.
He looked deeply out of place in his mourning garments, the sun’s first rays still low enough in the sky to cast Zhongli’s front courtyard in deep shadows. The imbecilic man had brought a bottle of wine half his size with him, which he now held snugly pressed against his hip like a baby.
Zhongli was still in his nightclothes, which hung off his body in deep browns and blacks down to his feet. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes (hoping that perhaps this was a nightmare), but when he looked again, the bard was still standing there.
“Have you come to share your condolences?” Zhongli asked.
“Why yes, I have. Liyue has lost something truly special. The sun has set on a golden era and I doubt any other ruler will ever come close to embodying the power and resilience of Rex Lapis. He has done so much for this great nation, from his contributions in the Archon War to even establishing Teyvat’s currency as we know it today! It’s truly such a shame that we will never cross paths the way we did in the past.”
As Venti spoke, a throbbing started at the front of Zhongli’s forehead and crept toward the back of his skull. He waited patiently for Venti to finish—it was still too early in the morning for him to muster the energy to tell him to stop—and then he wrapped his hands behind his back and asked, “Was that all?”
“Well, if you insist, I brought—”
Zhongli’s eyes widened as soon as he saw Venti produce a slip of paper from his sleeve. Zhongli pulled the bottle of wine from Venti’s arms and said in a tone as firm as he could muster, “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
“And my goodness, how rude! Do you know how much others would pay for my poetry? And I wrote some for you for free!”
“Thank you so much for the… thoughtful gift. However, I have work in a few hours, so I must find time to enjoy it later.”
“You mean in a thousand years?” Venti asked.
Zhongli turned on his feet and brought the wine inside. Venti trailed in after him, closing the door behind him. What ever happened to waiting for a formal invitation inside before deciding to scamper around someone else’s house? And yet, given the sort of man Venti was, this was not a surprise.
“Will you be staying for breakfast?” Zhongli asked in what was clearly a flat, sarcastic tone, but Venti met the inquiry with a cheery, “Oh, that sounds amazing! I’m so hungry after the long trip over. What are we having?”
“Steamed buns with a side of tea and vegetables.”
“You would eat that, wouldn’t you?” Venti asked.
He had, of course, sat himself at Zhongli’s already-prepared seat, pulling up with a ready smile and a click of Zhongli’s chopsticks.
He rolled his eyes and got to cooking.
“Sooo, you’re Zhongli now? Am I saying that right?”
Why did every sentence out of Venti’s mouth have to be accentuated?
Zhongli nodded and tipped the teacup back to his lip to take a slow sip of his yunaan moonlight.
Venti hummed, pretending to be thoughtful too, almost certainly mocking him as he raised the tea to his lips and slurped some up. Zhongli knew that Venti did these things because he knew they frustrated him. And yet recognizing that only made the impact more effective.
“I heard tales of Rex Lapis’s corpse falling from the sky. There’s still a dent in the grounds of Liyue Harbor where his body fell.”
“The Millelith has everything taken care of.”
“I was just thinking that you would go out that way. Rex Lapis wouldn’t go out quietly but with a big bang, in front of everyone for extra emphasis. Has the funeral rite been held yet?”
“No. It’s in three days. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor’s still waiting for Traveler to return with some materials.”
“Oh, so you’re spearheading the rite preparations?”
Zhongli nodded.
Venti started snickering.
Far from the somber mood Zhongli had expected Venti to embody, he was all amused tone and teasing lines. Zhongli sent him a warning glare. Venti brought his hand up to his lips to hide a grin.
Zhongli wasn’t genuinely frustrated. How could he be? Venti looked more amused than apologetic, and at least he hadn’t dropped rude comments like, See? I left ages ago and it was the best decision I ever made! You should have left sooner.
“I’ve been telling you for ages to leave and you finally listened! Doesn’t it feel better?”
Ah, he’d spoke too soon.
Everyone else thinks I died yesterday.. Could you have a shred of sympathy?
But of course Zhongli didn’t actually say that.
Instead, he reclined in his chair and sighed deeply. Would Venti understand if it was more complicated than simple guilt or relief? If Zhongli admitted to that, almost certainly Venti would mock him or say it was an easy decision for him. Scarcely was Venti vulnerable with him and Zhongli almost preferred it that way. He wasn’t in the mood to be overly reflective of his long, long life. Maybe with Traveler or with the adepti, but not with someone who understood so well exactly what he’d gone through and approached those feelings so differently from he.
“I am pleased with the role I have played in Liyue’s history and look forward to seeing where it is headed in the future,” Zhongli said measuredly.
“That’s not really what I was asking though,” Venti said.
“It does feel better,” Zhongli replied begrudgingly.
Venti smiled again. “That’s good to hear.”
“And how are things on your end? Still writing awe-inspiring sonnets and soliloquies?”
“Mm, a little here and there. I was just thinking that if I wanted to accurately portray the drama of what happened to Liyue’s archon, I’d have to get some feet on the ground and do some in-person investigating.”
“You plan on turning it into a song?” Zhongli asked.
“Hmm, maybe. I was thinking an epic, actually. A single song is too short to encompass the breadth of the situation, don’t you think? I think people would be left feeling unfulfilled if it was that short.”
Zhongli gave a hum of thought. He wasn’t wrong. Three thousand years of history was too much to fit into three minutes. He could orchestrate a whole musical and only brush upon ten percent of Zhongli’s life. He probably knew enough to get by, though. It would be enough to amuse a few humans.
“So, with that being said, I have a few questions…”
“It is far too early in the morning to begin an interview now,” Zhongli said.
Venti sighed dejectedly. “Why did I know you’d say that? But okay, whatever. I guess it’s enough to be in ‘Zhongli’s’ presence for now.”
He still said the name with a stilted tone, like he couldn’t believe it was his name. Zhongli repressed a scoff, but it likely showed on his face regardless, because Venti’s face screwed into one of a man trying to hide that someone had just put their coat on backwards without noticing. Could he be mature for once in his life? (No. The answer was certainly no.)
The rest of the morning passed quickly and with no incident. They exchanged the usual banter, small snipes casually aimed at each other that carried about as much weight as a fly landing on his shoulder.
“You’re so handsome when you’re annoyed,” Venti teased as Zhongli washed their dishes in the sink.
With his back turned, Zhongli could wear his expression of shock and embarrassment plainly without worrying that Venti would notice. The lips naturally sank back into their usual frown and he scoffed loudly enough for Venti to hear him over his shoulder.
“You carry yourself with the maturity of a fifteen-year-old,” Zhongli mocked.
“At least I’m still spry! You look how cracking bones sounds.”
The jape wasn’t particularly hurtful, although he had to laugh at it. He could still wield a polearm with the same grace he had when he’d first learned it and a meteor storm would be child’s play for him. In comparison, what was Venti capable of? A little gust of wind powerful enough to tousle someone’s hair? His bow skills were definitely more lethal than the Anemo. Maybe if he had any sort of interest in actually becoming strong, he would be able to hold a candle to Ganyu’s technique.
“I must head to work soon,” Zhongli said as he turned around. “I know that means little to you, so I will elucidate: you must leave my home. Now.”
“It’s so sad that I have a performance this week, otherwise I’d definitely stay to see Rex Lapis off. Would you mind passing along Lord Babatos’s condolences?”
“They have been received. Thank you,” Zhongli said.
He adjusted the collar of his nightshirt and looked Venti squarely in the eye. The height difference made it a little difficult, but Zhongli’s body had long adjusted to this angle after holding it so long across so many years.
Without hesitation, Venti wrapped his arms around him, the thin arms tightly squeezing his center. He patted Venti on the head, feeling the warm static of Anemo meeting the palm of his outstretched hand.
When they pulled away, Venti put on a pouting frown and pinched Zhongli’s cheek. He knew without looking down that he’d had to get onto the tips of his toes to make it work.
“I had to ask Traveler to even figure out what had happened. You have no idea how worried I first was when I’d heard you’d died! Next time, definitely tell me first, okay?” The second message came a little quieter. “And don’t be such a stranger. Now that you’re retired, come around some more, okay?”
“I’ll see when I can find time away from Wengsheng Funeral Parlor,” Zhongli said.
Venti sighed. “You’re not even doing retirement right. Why are you still working?”
“This is what I chose to do with my time. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Just don’t push yourself too hard. You’re supposed to be living it up, not drowning in boring paperwork all day.”
“That ‘boring paperwork’ is crucial to the lives and deaths of the people of Liyue. I am happy to do it.”
“You would,” Venti teased, and Zhongli nudged him toward the exit by practically walking him into the door with his body.
They exchanged another round of goodbyes, then Venti slipped through the door and Zhongli released a deep sigh of relief.
Venti was a small-dose person. As in, Zhongli could only tolerate him in small doses. It was much easier when he was sober, but even then, Venti was himself, five and a half feet of annoying snark, too-wide smiles, and poetry that was only half the time sort of good. Some of that was attributed to Venti adjusting to modern times that took Zhongli a bit longer to warm up to. He hadn’t been among his people like this before. He’d always been on the sidelines, not often holding conversation with them outside of meetings or passing pleasantries on the street. It was only recently he had gotten to hear people speak to him informally, the register and tone a little different from what he was usually accustomed to, but not in a bad way.
Before then, Venti had been the only one who had ever spoken to Zhongli casually. In some ways, Venti’s treatment had become more tolerable now that he wasn’t the only one doing it. But he was still the only one who could ever pull frowns so readily from Zhongli’s lips, or uproarious laughter whenever he said something ridiculously asinine (which was often).
The choice to retire had not been an easy one. Zhongli had carefully calculated all of the risks and benefits. But one thing he had not accounted for was how worse Venti’s pestering would become afterward. The once-dubbed “small-dose person” had been promoted to total headache.
In Zhongli Venti saw a new ex-archon companion.
In Venti Zhongli saw a total nuisance.
Wasn’t the journey to Liyue too long for him to be taking it monthly (and, at times, weekly)? And Venti always came with no warning, showing up on his doorstep like a washed-up kitten seeking shelter from the rain. Zhongli thought it would be enough to ward Venti off if he insisted on an abstinence of alcohol whenever they were together, but Venti agreed to the terms quickly and kept to them (lest Zhongli rocket him into the sky with a well-placed pillar of rock).
Zhongli didn’t really understand it. Out of all the people he could spend time with, out of all the conversations he could have with people better-suited to the fawning and admiration Venti expected of his audience, he still sought out Zhongli’s dry frowns and bitter teas, long passages of time sat together at dining tables discussing how he could refine his newest song to make it more palatable to the ears. Then Venti would doubtlessly accuse him of being an old man and having no appreciation for modern music and Zhongli would retort back that even children could tell he had put his most recent “magnum opus” together in less than five minutes.
There came a sort of predictability to Venti’s presence that Zhongli didn’t hate. Even cheap tea could become somewhat tolerable over time. It still could never be his favorite, but it possessed its own sort of appeal.
One rainy day, while Zhongli was out enjoying tea in Liyue Harbor, Venti appeared at his table holding an umbrella and a sun-shiny smile. Under the awning, Zhongli was getting minimally wet, and casually wiped any potential crumbs off his front as Venti closed the umbrella and sat down.
“Mind if I join you?” Venti asked.
“I see you have already invited yourself to sit,” Zhongli said with a casual wave.
“What are you drinking?”
“Oolong today.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked an empty cup from the center of the table and poured himself a moderate portion.
Then he set it down, leaned across the table, and whispered conspiratorially, “A little wind spirit told me that there was an incident at the Chasm. Is your yaksha friend doing okay?”
Zhongli’s heart leapt in his throat and he looked up.
Xiao was… Xiao, which meant he was pushing himself too hard and putting his life at risk to save others. While it was a quality Zhongli usually appreciated of him, it held a different sort of significance when it was done needlessly. He had already lost so much; he couldn’t lose this, too.
Venti called his name again. He looked up with a flash of confusion before realizing he had been asked a question.
“He is recovering as best he can,” Zhongli said.
“I ran into him the other night in Dihua Marsh. He wasn’t looking too good. Are you… sure he’s okay?”
“He has agreed to dedicate his life to protecting Liyue, and as such, there are times when he is put in mortal danger. This is the path he has chosen to tread; far be it from me to make him change his mind. A promise is not an easily broken thing in the land of contracts.”
“I know. It’s just… sad,” Venti murmured.
Zhongli wanted to say something cold to him, such as, This doesn’t concern you or That has always been the way of the adepti. But those things were too cruel even on his tongue, even when it was Venti, who usually took his cold tone with such stride.
In truth, Zhongli agreed. This wasn’t what he wanted, either. But it wasn’t like Xiao would listen if he told him to stop. When he was an archon, Zhongli held Xiao to his promise, and as a civilian, Zhongli had no power to tell him how to lead his life. In a way, it was a catch twenty-two.
Venti cupped his cheek in his hand and sighed. “Fighting never gets easier, huh?” he whispered.
The tone came with more sullenness than Zhongli expected. Venti slouched deeply in his chair until he was almost doubled over.
“There will always be those who risk their lives to protect others who cannot protect themselves. It’s not an easy life to choose. But I do what I can for him.”
“Do you think there will ever come a time when we won’t have to fight?” Venti asked.
Zhongli tested the brightness of the tea on his lips and swallowed hard. It burned on the way down.
“I hope so,” he said simply.
He had ignored this sort of conversation for so long and Venti had been the last person he’d expected to bring it up willingly. This man was an expert at ignoring the depressing topics that would bring down weaker men’s moods in an instant. When he did bring these sorts of things up, it was almost always after a long night of too much drinking.
“Have you heard of Remedium Tertiorum before?” Zhongli asked.
“Hm?” Venti looked up from his tea with a curious shine in his eyes.
“It is a specialized medicine for adepti. Mortals cannot eat it, but I make some for Xiao from time to time. This may be something you’d be interested in learning more about.”
“Mmh, thank you for the recommendation. I’ll look into it,” Venti said. “Hey, while I have you here, I’ve been working on this new poem. Could I have your thoughts?”
“No,” Zhongli said.
Venti laughed. “Some things never change, huh?”
The rain continued falling from the eaves with a steady drip drip drip, but Venti wore an impervious smile. Even a dreary topic like service and death on a rainy day couldn’t be enough to put a dour on his mood. This man was seriously something else.
“Refined and courteous man…”
“Elegant and amiable… the best bard in Mondstadt…”
“The most distinguished guest here today… I’m sure we all agree that it’s Mr. Zhongli.”
In a competition of buttering up one another, Zhongli didn’t have a difficult time getting one over on the bard. It hadn’t hurt that Hu Tao had put him in charge of checking the attendee list and that he had a long time to prepare after seeing Venti’s name stamped in beautiful script at the top of the page.
This was the first time in many years that Zhongli had met with Venti for an occasion like Lantern Rite, and he found Venti’s demeanor completely different from the usual. Had he always been so polite? And had he always possessed the capability to flatter Zhongli with such lavish praise?
The whole room was sitting on the edge of its seats, hanging onto Venti’s every word. They even looked impressed by the flimsy poetry Venti had workshopped with Zhongli months prior. There was an odd sense of privilege that came with recognizing the lilt of the words before they came out of Venti’s lips, a swell of pride or some selfish thing that enjoyed having been involved in the conception of the words before they were put to paper the way they were in that moment.
It was rare for Zhongli to dole out genuine praise when addressing the bard, and when the kind words finally left his lips, Venti looked so monumentally pleased with himself. Zhongli didn’t know whether he wanted to wipe the smirk from his lips or keep feeding it to see how wide he could make it.
Traveler looked amused by their little competition. Xiao looked like he was either sick or about to fade into oblivion from embarrassment and confusion. This was clearly not a pairing he expected to encounter over dinner tonight. And while Zhongli felt that he had some adjusting to do socially, Xiao was even worse, with his lifestyle keeping him from humans so regularly.
Once the evening had calmed and everyone was preparing to set off their separate ways, Zhongli pulled Xiao aside to ask him how he had enjoyed his evening. It didn’t look like he had had much time to decompress after focusing so hard on socializing for so long, and his tone was stilted when he addressed his former archon.
Would things always be this way? Was there nothing Zhongli could do to encourage Xiao to open up to him? Zhongli had adjusted enough to hiding the disappointment in his tone as they spoke, but deep down, a part of him still felt a little restless.
“Thank you very much for your company tonight,” Xiao said with a polite bow.
“Well, well, well, look who it is! My two favorite Liyuean friends!”
Venti’s voice traveled from the entryway, and as Zhongli turned, Venti appeared at their side with an arm thrown over Xiao’s shoulder. Zhongli held in his sigh but Venti’s face belied that he had noticed.
“Hello,” Xiao said.
“I can see that my music has been leaving a positive influence on you,” Venti brightened. “Have you been killing many hilichurls recently?”
“Not many as of late,” Xiao said. “Work has been going steadily.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Zhongli did not envy the way they spoke so casually to each other. If anything, it comforted him to see Xiao letting his guard down in front of someone. He could complain about Venti all he wanted, but one thing was for certain: The disdain he held for the drunk bard did not extend to other people’s impressions of him.
“By the way, what did you think of my poetry? Did you enjoy it? Or did you like Hu Tao’s better?” Venti asked.
Xiao stroked the back of his neck and frowned. “Well…”
“Don’t listen to him. He’s being egotistical,” Zhongli said.
Venti scoffed. “Says you.” He turned back to Xiao: “I hope he hasn’t bored you to sleep lately with any of his old tales.”
“No. I’ve been too busy to entertain them anyway,” Xiao said.
“Well, good! He’s all just a big bag of air anyway.”
The banter from before came back in full force. But, still buoyed from the earlier evening’s compliments, Zhongli found the comments easier to handle. He scoffed and ruffled Venti’s hair, which earned him a surprised squawk and a wide-eyed Xiao. Had he acted out of line? But he was no longer an archon, so it was permissible to act childish from time to time.
It was not long before Traveler joined the conversation and Xiao left with them to converse on their own. Zhongli hated to admit it, but it’d been a lot of standing and sitting and noise for one evening, and he was preparing to walk home when he found Venti still keeping pace at his side.
Zhongli didn’t acknowledge him for a moment. It wouldn’t be difficult to lose Venti in the crowds of Liyue Harbor. People were still mulling about even after the fireworks had faded from the night sky and stalls began to close up. The lanterns would stay lit all night, the yellows, golds, and red so saturated and sharp in the otherwise deep dark. It smelled of sugar, heavy perfume, burnt-out sparklers, and calla lilies.
The road transitioned from well-trod cobbled streets to a quiet, rock-lined path of dirt. A river trickled beside them then grew the closer they got to a bridge up the horizon. Zhongli stopped under the boughs of an old oak tree, its branches casting new moon’s shade along the stone and glistening water beneath them as they trod the bridge. He admired the path of a koi as it ambled downstream. Venti threw his arms over the handrail and nestled his face between his hands. He cast a glance to Zhongli beside him, then tilted his head up toward the sky and did that thing he did sometimes where he stretched his arms out in front of him and swayed.
“Did you really mean all those things you said about me?” Venti asked.
Zhongli cupped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps a few of them were genuine.”
“‘A few?’ Which ones?”
Zhongli felt the heat of Venti’s gaze on him. The more he pretended not to see it, the harder Venti stared.
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“Of course it does! If you were honest about the poetry, then—”
“No,” Zhongli interrupted.
“Aw, you wound me! You know that? You wound me when you say you think my poetry is the ugliest most boring stuff you’ve ever heard! Would it hurt your old bones to at least say it’s fine?” Venti jutted out his lower lip and pleaded with big, cerulean eyes.
Zhongli sighed. It wasn’t like it was so bad it was intolerable. Had his picking gone too far?
“It’s…” Zhongli began, and Venti brightened up so considerably it was almost ridiculous, “…fine.”
Venti looked so happy he almost thought he was going to hug him. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, as he didn’t reek of the usual booze tonight.
"So you were lying about my music being amazing. But that means you do think I’m handsome…”
He definitely never said that.
“Did I say that? If I were to choose an adjective, I think ‘cute’ is more apropos.”
“I’m not a thousand years old anymore, Mister Zhongli. I’ve grown.” Venti pulled himself onto the bridge and did a little jig, completely contradicting his claim of developed maturity.
The back of Zhongli’s neck burned and he hid his face behind a hand. Did he have to be seen with this man? Even when he was stone cold sober, Venti acted like a complete buffoon. Zhongli turned on his heel and began walking back toward his house. Venti followed at his side until the bridge ended and he landed soundlessly at Zhongli’s side on a puff of anemo.
“You know,” Venti murmured as Zhongli quickened his pace just a little, “There’s this face you make when you think I’m not looking.”
You mean exasperation?
“Mmhmm?” Zhongli hummed.
“You actually really like it when I have your undivided attention, don’t you?” he asked. “You like it when I tease you and call you handsome.”
“Your flattery won’t work on me,” Zhongli said.
“Is that so? But your face is so red…”
“It’s the lanterns,” Zhongli said automatically.
“There are no lanterns this far away from the city center.”
Zhongli sighed.
“I get it, you would sooner die than admit you like me. But I know,” Venti said, sounding much too pleased with himself.
They were close to Zhongli’s house now. He stopped by a low fence (that would surely collapse if Venti tried to stand on it, heaven forbid,) and finally turned his attention onto Venti.
“I will be going in now. Have a good rest of your evening,” Zhongli said.
“Won’t you lend this poor bard your ear for one more second?” Venti asked.
He crossed his arms. “What is it?”
“Windblume is coming up and I want you to come. Do you think you could spare a measly day or two from work to visit?”
“I’ll see if something can be arranged,” Zhongli said.
“I look forward to seeing you there,” Venti said.
His smile was genuine enough, and as they separated, Zhongli released the tension in his shoulders and entered his house with a quiet sigh. The deep, quiet dark of his living room was a noticeable contrast to the music and merrymaking that had come before. He collapsed onto his couch, pulled the shoes from his feet, and tried to ignore the smell of calla lily in his hair.
The free and prosperous Land of Wind made the influence of its archon blatantly obvious in the temperament of every stranger Zhongli encountered. They all shared Lord Barbados’s charitable demeanor and ready laugh, sun-kissed skin and hair braided with blossoms. Zhongli quickly set aside these ponderings though in favor of exploring the city on his first day. He had booked himself a room at the Goth Hotel where he dropped off his things before setting off to quickly melt into the first throng of people he encountered.
Little could he have anticipated that the endeared crowd belonged to none other than Venti playing one of his oldest and most popular songs. His stage presence was undeniable, and even Zhongli was swept up by it, listening in singular fascination as he sang. Venti’s chords were where most of his strength lie. While his storytelling wasn’t Zhongli’s favorite, there were certain songs he had to admit suited his voice well.
Once Venti finished, he bowed and the audience applauded. Zhongli felt a pair of eyes on him and, sure enough, Venti was already sauntering over, releasing his lute to let it hang from a strap secured around his shoulder.
“What a pleasure seeing you here,” he said. “I’m so glad you were able to fit me into your busy schedule.”
“Your music was quite good,” Zhongli said.
Venti grinned. “Watch out, Mister Grumpy.” He tried to reach up to pinch Zhongli’s cheek, but he resisted with a turn of his head. “You almost looked happy.”
Other spectators who were encouraged by Zhongli’s readiness to approach the celebrated musician followed in his wake, lauding Venti with praise and encouragement. They were asking for an encore now, a mother gesturing to her daughter who she claimed was Venti’s biggest fan.
Venti patted Zhongli on the arm. “I’m gonna be here a while, so why don’t we meet up later? I’ll meet with you at the statue at sunset.”
Zhongli provided a simple nod in response then turned on his heel and stalked deeper into the crowd. There were more than enough things to occupy his attention in the meantime, and he settled on The Cat’s Tail, which he knew Venti would never elect to visit without good reason.
Even this place was ridiculously busy, tables laid out with stacks of cards and playing pieces. Zhongli drew up to a table, attracting the attention of the patrons, and sat down once invited to.
The place unfortunately served mainly wine and other alcoholic beverages, although he was able to request a too-sweet mocktail that he nursed while watching people play rounds of TCG. He didn’t know much about the game, but with some encouragement from the others, he participated in a match and won. Maybe that strategic mind was still with him after all.
Some time passed. People turned their attention to dinner plans and the tavern became a little busier. Zhongli headed out and approached the cathedral, craning his neck back to admire the spires that jutted toward the sky, crowds mulling about the front entrance as they cycled through the interior of the building. To tourists, the cathedral was probably one of the most impressive creations they had ever seen—at least out of Mondstadt. Dragonspine was also impressive, although it would be ill-advised to send anyone that way without appropriate preparation.
It was too deeply ironic that their own archon would sooner freeze to death than traverse even two feet of Dragonspine’s snowy landscape.
“I hope I didn’t leave you waiting too long,” a familiar voice said behind him.
He turned around and met Venti’s wide smile.
“Were you waiting for me long?”
Not long enough, he wanted to say.
“No,” Zhongli replied instead.
“Great! Because we’re just in time to make our reservation at Angel’s Share!”
Venti looped his arm around Zhongli’s and tugged, but Zhongli remained glued to the spot. Venti rolled his eyes and huffed.
“Don’t you wanna come out and have fun with me?”
“I never agreed to go to a tavern.”
“Aw, but pleease? I promise I won’t drink too much. I’ll only get a glass! I promise I’ll moderate!”
That was the biggest lie that Zhongli had ever heard come out of his mouth. He released a deep sigh.
“Do you actually promise to behave yourself?”
“Yes, of course! I—”
“Because if you don’t, there will be consequences.”
Venti’s lower lip came jutting out again in a cloying, pleading expression. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”
Zhongli didn’t respond.
“Just an hour. And then you can leave, alright?”
“Mmhm,” Zhongli hummed dubiously.
Venti led him to the bar with a spring in his step. Zhongli angled his shoulders to avoid brushing against other festivalgoers, sticking close enough to Venti’s side to smell calla lilies wafting from him.
The second Zhongli stepped into the bar he wanted to leave. People at a table near the door were jostling each other and practically throwing drinks into each other’s faces, hooting at each other and goading them to drink their lager as quickly as humanly possible. Zhongli’s reaction was perhaps a little more obvious than he would have liked it to be, or Venti was surprisingly perceptive, because he laughed when he looked at Zhongli’s face.
“For someone who wants to experience all the pleasures of life, you sure have a low tolerance for merrymaking, huh?” Venti asked.
“It’s simply not my first choice when seeking a moment of relaxation,” Zhongli said.
“Pfft. You and I have very different ideas of ‘relaxation~’” he teased.
Zhongli tucked his hands behind his back and straightened his posture as they approached the bar. Venti threw himself onto it—how did he plan to wash out the sticky counter stains later?—and waved the bartender over with a few calls of his name in a singsong voice.
“Diluc, Diluuuc!”
“Oh joys, my favorite patron is here,” Diluc said. He’d tied his mass of red hair behind his head and slicked back the bangs hanging around his eyes. He seemed to be perspiring a little, face pale and collar askew. He finished wiping down the glass in his hand and turned his back on them for a moment to put it away.
“Aw, you flatter me!” Venti hummed.
“What can I put you down for?”
Both of the other men turned quiet as they set their eyes on Zhongli.
Zhongli cleared his throat and asked, “Would it be possible to inquire about a cup of tea?”
Neither of the other men replied for a second.
Venti spoke up first.
“Apologies for my friend. He doesn’t possess the same refined palate I do.”
“We don’t really have any tea on tap. I can try to see if we have anything under the counter,” Diluc said. “Is there something specific you’re looking for? Though I doubt we have it.”
“Any oolong tea would be ideal, but especially Da Hong Pao or Tieguanyin,” Zhongli said.
Diluc stared at him a second, clearly processing, before nodding. He turned to Venti. “And for you?”
“A glass of spirytus, please,”
“…With?”
“Just that is fine,” Venti said casually.
Diluc massaged the bridge of his nose. “I really recommend against taking it neat. At least mix it with something.”
Venti jabbed a thumb in Zhongli’s direction. “I promised this guy I’d only have one glass tonight, so don’t break my promise, alright?”
“I’m at liberty to lose my license if I serve you that on its own and wind up poisoning you. What do you want in it?”
“Alright, whatever you think is best.”
With that sorted, Venti led Zhongli through the thick crowds of the lower level of the tavern and up the stairs to the second. It was no quieter up here— in fact it was perhaps a little louder— and Zhongli failed to restrain a tight sigh as Venti drew up to a small table in the corner.
As soon as they sat down, Venti brought his arm up to his nose and sneezed violently. Zhongli suppressed the shock of guilt that ran through him.
“So, did you have a fun time today?” Venti asked.
“Yes, I had a pleasant time enjoying the festivities. Were you performing long?”
“Basically all day,” Venti said. “But if I’m not doing that, then I’m…”
“Drinking yourself into a stupor?”
“I wouldn’t call it a stupor,” Venti scoffed. “Just a little buzzed!”
“Do you ever even remember Windblume, or do you drink all memory of it away before you can register that it’s happened?”
The smile on Venti’s face faltered; that was new. “You’re so mean, you know?” Venti asked.
Before Zhongli could formulate a response, Diluc came by with their drinks and set them firmly on the table with a clatter. Venti reached for his eagerly and downed some of it with a refreshed smack of his lips. Zhongli and Diluc stared at him in dual doubt but his face never screwed up with disgust. Did he really find nearly pure alcohol that good-tasting?
“And your tea,” Diluc said, pushing Zhongli’s cup his direction.
Venti handed him a bag of coins then reclined in his seat. “You can go ahead and close my tab now. I’ll cover his, too.”
“Mmmh,” came Diluc’s response, then he was gone.
“Sooo, what did you get up to? Did you do any hang gliding? Or did you enroll in the music event or the photography contest?”
“I watched a few matches of TCG at the cat cafe.”
Venti’s expression sunk into a pouting frown. “You really like seeing me suffer too much!”
“I believe I sufficiently brushed myself off before I left.”
Venti leaned over and flicked away a stray cat whisker stuck to his lapel.
He cleared his throat.
“You really pride yourself on being so well-put together. But I wonder what you’re like when you’re a little frazzled?”
Zhongli cleared his throat. “Such idle ponderings are a waste of thought, as they’ll never come to fruition.”
“When you tease me like that, you only make me more determined to see them come true!”
Zhongli scoffed. Venti poked him in the arm. “Hey. Play TCG with me. I never get to practice cuz I’d die if I went in there. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“No, of course not. Although wouldn’t it be an easy a victory against you?”
Venti’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Even wind can topple buildings with the right amount of force. Don’t underestimate me just because I look cute.”
“I never said that.”
“Then at least call me something.”
“Pestiferous.”
Venti snorted, a loud, frankly jarring, sound and smacked his hand on the table.
He leaned forward. He was already beginning to stink of the proof he’d ordered.
“And you’re very… square.”
It was Zhongli’s turn to laugh. Among the loud chatter of the bar, it was a quiet sound.
“Do you have a deck of cards?” he asked.
“There’s some at the lost and found. I’ll get them.”
Venti jumped from his seat and slipped into the crowd. Zhongli took a long sip of his tea—it definitely tasted like Tieguanyin—and finally shrugged off his coat to lay across the back of his chair. By the time Zhongli was settled back into his seat, Venti had returned with a battered deck of cards and a fistful of dice. Zhongli didn’t ask where he’d gotten the dice from as they began setting up the table.
“That’s the third win in a row! How am I doing better than you?”
Venti flipped through the deck of cards and dropped them into the center of the table. Zhongli could no longer remember how much time had passed since they’d first started playing. Venti seemed to have this game mixed up with strip poker, because for every game he lost, another article of clothing left his body. First it had been the cape—that had been expected, as it was too stuffy in here to wear besides—but then he had removed the corset hugging his waist and unbuttoned the high-collared shirt that now showed hints of clavicle from between folds of ruffled white.
The Tieguanyin had not been enough to stave off dryness from Zhongli’s throat after a sight like that. He wasn’t sure what would happen to himself if Venti’s condition deteriorated any more.
A lull in conversation grew between them as people vacated the table beside them. The bar had quieted some as other patrons drank their fill and began to feel drowsy. His own drinking partner was behaving himself much more than Zhongli had expected. Usually something as small and self-contained as a two-person card game wouldn’t be enough to sufficiently stimulate Venti.
The last time Zhongli had gone out drinking with him (when was that? A hundred—two hundred—years ago?), Venti had thrown himself onto the table at the end of the night and danced, half-naked, to a crowd of overenthusiastic enablers. He’d flirted with anyone who had ears, drained the bar of its drinks, and broken a chair by jumping onto it with a bit too much anemo. It had been deeply painful to see, and Zhongli had carried him home by his collar like a cat sweeping a kitten away by the scruff of its neck.
Venti had long ago finished his spirytus concoction and kept to his word of not drinking anything after. It wasn’t what Zhongli expected. For so long, it’d seemed that Venti wouldn’t be able to get through a single conversation with him without being imbued with a little extra liquid courage. He obviously wasn’t completely sober this time either, but there was enough of him still there that Zhongli didn’t feel concerned for his liver. It felt like a mini miracle that Venti had not brought Der Frühling out yet.
“You’re acting quite placid tonight,” Zhongli said.
“Am I?” Venti asked. “Am I being too boring for your tastes? But wait, you like boring.”
“Mmhm,” Zhongli hummed, feigning indifference.
Venti sniffled and suppressed another sneeze. “Do you remember that time I forged your signature and almost sold Mondstadt to you?”
“How could I forget? You always used to wrap me up in your troubles.” He could still recall how he had found out. A random Mondstadtian had come to him looking like his whole life was about to come crashing to an end because they would belong to the land of contracts instead of freedom. Was that exchange truly such an awful prospect to them? Venti’s people reflected their archon too much.
“I did,” Venti said. He tried to laugh, but it was a strange sound, half-audible through the haze of creaking floorboards, drunken signing downstairs, and the echo of empty glasses being set down on thick wooden tables. One of Venti’s braids was coming loose and the teal-anemo ends sparkled almost-silver underneath the bar lights. “Even if it was a joke, at least for a second I didn’t have to handle such a big thing on my own.”
You could have come to me any time, Zhongli wanted to say, but that wasn’t necessarily true. There were times when he was busy with his own things. Changing of guards, never-ending battles, diplomacy meetings and day-to-day operations that would have made travel to another country difficult unless it was an emergency. His nation had relied on him a lot in the past, just as Venti’s had for him.
“I really missed you,” Venti murmured.
Was he crying? It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting, but a hand almost certainly reached up to rub at his too-red cheeks.
“Even now I feel like I’m inconveniencing you by making you come out all this way just to entertain me. Some day I’ll learn my lesson.”
Zhongli sighed.
“Sorry,” Venti murmured.
“The fault is all mine if I have upset you so deeply,” Zhongli said.
He really was crying now, hiding a drizzle of snot and tears in the folds of his half-undone shirt, the frills at the cuff shoved ungracefully into red-rimmed eyes. With a concerned urgency, Zhongli reached across the table and stroked Venti’s trembling forearm. Venti shrank somewhat into his half of the booth, laughing awkwardly, seemingly incapable of choosing a single emotion to feel in that moment.
Venti’s lips twisted into an odd half-grimace, half-smile. “I even tried to stop drinking so much ‘coz I thought maybe you’d like me more if I didn’t, but it didn’t really feel like you cared either way…”
“I do care,” Zhongli said. “I have noticed. It had just not occurred to me that you thought so highly of my company. This whole time I have taken it too much for granted.”
“You really did,” Venti huffed in return.
Other people had begun to notice their table. Zhongli stepped out from behind his seat and bent down beside Venti to do up the lowest buttons of his shirt. Zhongli had removed his gloves during the card game and now scales of geo flickered across his skin as he slid the buttons back home through the slits in the fabric, feeling the thrum of Venti’s warm skin brushing against his knuckles.
“It is getting late. Shall we continue this discussion elsewhere?” Zhongli whispered, leaned in close enough for Venti to hear.
Venti didn’t provide much of a response outside of a few sniffles and what Zhongli thought was a small nod. Zhongli had never minded much of other people’s impressions of him, but in that moment, he didn’t want other people to think he had treated Venti poorly.
He hated that this whole time he had mistreated a friend. All of those times Venti had brushed off his calloused comments and ignored the easily readable look in Zhongli’s eyes that communicated everything he didn’t say. In every way, Zhongli had cut Venti down when he should have been supporting him instead.
Venti’s legs gave out when he tried to stand. His arm slipped from where it had been supporting him on the table and he almost came crashing to the floor, taking the empty glasses with him. Zhongli only just caught everything in time, pushing the glasses toward the center of the table and guiding Venti back into his seat. The corset Venti’d taken off slipped off the seat behind him and hit the floor with a smack. Zhongli picked it up and slung it across his forearm, the shirtsleeve rolled back to reveal tanned skin. He picked up his coat, too, and Venti’s cape, then helped Venti up with his other arm.
With a quiet hum, Venti’s thin fingers wrapped around his bicep and squeezed. Zhongli held back a barely suppressed blush. For other patrons, it would not be so unusual for someone at a bar to be blushing from drink, but the excuse didn’t properly protect him from the truth.
The journey out of the tavern and to Zhongli’s hotel was short and uneventful. Venti didn’t put up much of a fuss; Zhongli suspected he was already half-asleep. Venti made one comment when they first stepped outside about the fresh night air.
The Goth Grand Hotel had two small steps outside that they scaled easily enough; inside, however, was a much larger staircase that Zhongli didn’t feel like dealing with, so he swept Venti up into his arms and easily carried him the rest of the way.
He didn’t reek of the usual dandelion wine, which was bright and fresh, like cut grass and flowers. No, instead it almost smelled like cleaning solution steeped in maraschino cherry syrup. Zhongli’s stomach flipped when Venti’s face curled against his shoulder.
His heart hadn’t stopped beating rapidly since Venti first started crying. Even now, after Venti had calmed himself, Zhongli couldn’t wrap his mind around everything that Venti had said.
When they entered his room, Zhongli stopped at the end of his neatly made bed and gently lowered Venti onto the bedsheets. Venti let go willingly, then bent down and began undoing his shorts.
When was the last time Zhongli had been in the company of someone undressed?
He awkwardly cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps you could stay robed?”
“Tights itchy. I can’t… get them…”
Zhongli stared at him a moment, a little shy, then knelt at the base of the bed and pulled Venti’s shoes off. He neatly set them beside each other at the end of the bed then rose onto his legs again.
“I am going to take a shower. Do you think you can dress yourself on your own?”
The shorts were already half off, revealing his stomach beneath the half-sheer material of his tights.
“No need to look so embarrassed, prude-zhi. I’ll be fine,” Venti said, a little slurred.
It was only once Zhongli gathered his sleep clothes into his arms and hid himself away in the bathroom that he was able to release a sigh of relief.
His shower was quick, only washing his body, keeping the hair tied away in a knot around the base of his head which he undid once he was finished. When Zhongli stepped out again, Venti’s tights and shirt lay in a pile of white on the floor. Zhongli carefully swallowed and sorted a few things throughout the room. He eventually drew up to the bed, though, and looked down at Venti’s sleeping form.
He could see the small wind spirit Venti once was in the way he curled into himself, knees brought to his chest, hands curled protectively underneath his chin and against his slim neck. The blanket hugged most of his body, which appeared to be covered by nothing but a pair of boxers, though Zhongli wouldn’t be peeking underneath the covers to check. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, never peeling his gaze from Venti’s, and watched as Venti opened his eyes again.
“Are you still awake?” Zhongli asked.
“Mmhm,” Venti hummed. “It’s been such a long day… I’m so tired.”
Zhongli frowned. It was a while before he spoke. He wanted to be careful with his words, thoughtful of the message he wanted to convey. Even if Venti didn’t remember in the morning, a possibility he did not doubt the likelihood of, there was no excuse for not expressing true sincerity the next time he opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” he said.
Venti frowned. “It’s okay.”
Was it? “I have not treated you in a way befitting that of an archon or even a friend, and for that, I am truly ashamed. I was a fool to think that the things I said were permissible just because they were spoken to you.”
“Heh. It’s not every day I’m spoiled with such manners from the ex-geo archon.”
“My rudeness was inappropriate.”
“Should I make you repay me for the two thousand years you refused me?”
Zhongli bristled. “Two thousand is…”
“You can start to make it up to me by agreeing to go on a date with me next time.”
“A date?” Zhongli grimaced.
Venti giggled. The sound… was soothing.
“Yes, Mister Zhongli. Otherwise I’ll tell your employer you’re a total scumbag who bullies little bards ’til they cry and shames their alcohol dependence so much that not even dandelion wine tastes good anymore.”
“You cannot blame me for that. It isn’t healthy,” Zhongli rebutted.
“Mmmmister Zhongli…”
“Please don’t call me that.”
Venti patted the space beside him in bed. “Come here.”
With minimal begrudging, Zhongli stood and stepped to the other side of the bed to sit down beside him, his head supported by the headboard.
Venti shuffled around in bed until he was facing Zhongli. He pulled the long strands of hair from behind Zhongli’s back and twirled a few between his fingers. Zhongli let him do it; there were much more annoying things he could be doing.
“You know why we don’t get along?” Venti whispered. “You never let your hair down.”
“You’re one to talk. Your hair is always in these little braids.”
Zhongli plucked one out at random and twirled it between his fingers. Venti stared at him with that infuriating quirk of a smile on his face.
“I can let them loose,” he teased, and before Zhongli could protest, he hooked his finger in the elastic keeping the braid together and pulled it loose. Their hands met, but Zhongli didn’t move his away. He wanted to touch Venti, to feel the beat of his warm body beside his.
The thin strands unraveled slowly, then Venti undid the other and fluffed up his hair. He looked good like this; like someone actually reflecting a bit of his actual age.
Zhongli combed through the neon-blue strands with his fingers. Venti released a long, calm sigh, then pulled himself up into a sitting position beside him.
Why did he know where this was going? Why did Zhongli feel no shock when Venti pressed his lips up against his, a hand sliding gently underneath his chin to hold it in place? Zhongli’s hands felt so large where they slotted against Venti’s waist, a thumb brushing over the divot of his bellybutton and up toward the then-not glowing sigil on his chest.
“I really missed you,” Venti whispered again, just in case Zhongli hadn’t heard him the first time.
“Mmh,” Zhongli hummed, and he sat like that for some time brushing the backs of his knuckles against the soft panes of Venti’s face, pushing hair out of his eyes as he slowly fell back asleep in his lap.
“Oh my, how did I wind up in such a handsome man’s bed last night?”
Zhongli woke up the next morning with a slow blink of his eyes, rolling over to discover Venti already half-dressed and looking down at him with that signature smirk on his lips. Venti had been in the middle of buttoning up his shirt when Zhongli had heard him and grumbled with mild annoyance. Despite not drinking anything heavy last night, Zhongli seemed somehow in a worse state than Venti.
Venti finished buttoning his shirt and Zhongli sat up and adjusted his collar before stretching. He felt Venti’s eyes on him and turned to huff at him.
“How could I not stare in at least some admiration?” Venti asked. “After all, you said such kind things to me last night.”
He stilled in a second. “How much do you remember?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Only a little bit of everything?”
Zhongli frowned.
“Doesn’t it suck that you have to be nice to me now?” Venti teased.
It was too early in the morning to formulate a proper response.
Venti sat down on the edge of Zhongli’s bed, not unlike what he had done to Venti the night prior, and leaned over him until their noses were nearly touching.
This was a proximity Zhongli was not yet accustomed to, and he held his breath as Venti whispered, “If I wanted to kiss you right now, what would you say?”
“Have you always been this annoying?”
Venti laughed, and it was such a bright, happy noise in contrast to how he had sounded last night. Zhongli did not think long before he had his hand around Venti’s wrist and had tugged him close enough to close the distance between them, slotting Venti’s lips easily against his own, tasting that still-disgusting mix of alcohol from last night on his tongue. Venti fell into his lap, weighing practically nothing, wrapping his arms around Zhongli’d wide shoulders.
It felt oddly like coming home to something. It felt like something that had happened before, in a time long ago that he could no longer remember but still sometimes dreamed about. Venti was so simple and easy, someone who Zhongli understood and could be completely himself with. It had been that way for so long that even if those other years never came with such physicality, he could still easily predict what Venti would do next.
The swipe of fingers underneath his chin, warm thighs slotted against his. Zhongli relocated Venti to his side instead and Venti retaliated by pressing his lips to his cheek.
Zhongli let out a long-suffering sigh and Venti giggled.
“Never change,” Venti said gently.
“Nor you,” Zhongli replied.
“I’ll try my best. But if I do, you’ll still love me, right?”
“How could I not?”
That was the right answer.
Venti smiled.
Zhongli did not need a watch to know that Venti was late.
All he needed was to read the shadows cast on the ground to see that it was far from early morning anymore. The strength of the sun and the yellowish hues of its rays had baked off into full daylight by the time Venti approached the path leading into Sumeru.
“You’re late,” Zhongli said.
“Sorry, sorry! I’m a little hungover so I overslept.”
Zhongli sent him a glare. Venti just laughed it off.
He was still himself, but much had changed between them since that night in Mondstadt. Zhongli was gentler with Venti now, and in return, Venti was mildly less annoying. He still called him “blockhead” and mocked him any time he refused to drink, but time passed more easily between them. Zhongli could not deny that he enjoyed the preferential treatment, as did his companion, who sometimes feigned being more drunk than he actually was as a ploy to get Zhongli to carry him around (which, of course, he did not).
Today, they were heading into Sumeru to celebrate Nahida’s birthday. They were scheduled to arrive before the main festivities so they would have time to catch up. As they walked, Venti strummed a small tune and sang. Zhongli would have brought tea had he thought he could walk and drink at the same time, but at the pace they were going, it would have sloshed everywhere and gotten on his clothing. It was enough effort as it was to make sure he avoided staining anything.
Everything went to plan. They met Nahida and went through the usual pleasantries—how they were doing well, as was she, although unlike them she was still deep into her archon duties. She wasn’t able to spare as much time as Zhongli would have liked. He had been hoping for at least an hour, but even twenty minutes was tight between people coming in and out looking like they had something to ask of her.
Venti brought a cake; Zhongli brought a cake… of tea. The irony wasn’t lost on the other two, who couldn’t stop laughing about it. They had planned their gifts independently but still wound up with things pretty similar to each other. Zhongli, too, had to secretly admit to being impressed. Had they begun reflecting each other more than he thought?
When it came time for Nahida to leave, they bid her farewell. Zhongli had this faint sinking feeling in his stomach that proved to be warranted when Venti shifted in his seat and pulled a bottle of wine seemingly out of nowhere.
“Since we’re on vacation, a little bit of day drinking is permissible, right~?” he asked in that optimistic tone that Zhongli had turned down more times than he could count.
“No matter how strongly I rebuff you, it matters not, does it? You always do exactly what you want despite what I say,” Zhongli said.
“So that’s a yes?”
“Give me that.”
Zhongli yanked the bottle from Venti’s hand and Venti attempted to recover it by tossing himself onto the other side of the table. His efforts were in vain, though, and Zhongli flicked it off into his teapot realm before Venti’s hand could close around his wrist.
“Ugh! You’re no fun, you know that?” Venti huffed as he threw himself back into his seat and crossed his arms. “I guess that’s just what I get for choosing to spend a holiday with you.”
“Are you not having fun?” Zhongli asked. “If my company bores you so much, you can always go off into the city on your own, although if you get wrapped up in trouble, I won’t be there to bail you out.”
“When have I ever caused trouble for other people?”
Zhongli sent him a look.
Venti sagged in his seat. “It was only the one time.”
“It was much more than that.”
“Then what do you propose we do?”
“I was thinking…” Zhongli said, then launched into a small spiel of how he imagined they could spend their evening.
There was the Grand Bazaar, the Akademiya, and Treasures Street. Had he been to these places before? Perhaps, but never with Venti at his shoulder. And at least two locales he had in mind would not take kindly to having a drunk-off-his ass Anemo archon stumbling around their premises—especially on Nahida’s special day.
He saw the doubt in Venti’s eyes. But then his shoulders sank and an easy smile returned to his face.
In another second, it edged up into a smirk.
“Alright, I’ll entertain your request for now. But as soon as night falls, it’s my turn.”
“I will not debase myself—”
“—There won’t be any debasing,” Venti huffed.
He shuffled his chair a little closer and rested his hands on Zhongli’s shoulders. Fingers caressed the skin beneath his collar, sending a shudder through him. With his high-collared shirt, Zhongli didn’t often receive touches so tender. Venti had always been too short to reach such a place before.
“Alright?” Venti whispered.
The promise of further tenderness won out against his better judgement.
He hardly recalled the exact words that came out of his mouth but he was sure he would regret them later.
The was something so ephemeral about watching the sun set on a rainy day. Despite how many times he had seen it already, Zhongli felt like he never got enough of the view of golden sunlight painting mossy trees and ferns in warm greens cast with rainclouds and night looming behind. As Sumeru’s Sabzeruz Festival approached its evening curtain call, Venti drew Zhongli to an isolated balcony on some far edge of the city. He was impressed at how quiet a corner Venti had found, given his proclivity for noisy bars and crowded audiences, and could only imagine the self-restraint it had taken for Venti to choose something more palatable for his partner’s sake.
Partner. When would Zhongli summon the courage to talk about that? Would that fateful night be tonight?
“I was thinking we could have a little heart-to-heart,” Venti said. “Buuut it would be nice if a certain idiot could share the wine he stole.”
“I don’t report to drunkards,” Zhongli retorted.
“Check the label yourself; it isn’t too bad, eh?”
Zhongli’s interest had been piqued, so he summoned the drink back to his hand.
His eyes glanced at the label.
He scowled as Venti started cackling.
Osmanthus wine, of all things?
Still struck by disbelief, Zhongli couldn’t react in time to keep Venti from swiping the bottle out of his hand. Venti scampered back to his end of the table, dragging the bottle onto his lap.
“Traveler told me they heard you mumbling to yourself one day. I would invite Nahida, but maybe once she’s aged a little more. After all, we can still make enough fun with just the two of us, hm? Why don’t we start reminiscing a little?”
“I will not…”
Venti pulled a pleading stare. “‘Will not’ what? Hold up your half of the bargain? And I thought you liked contracts!”
“A simple agreement is not the same as a contract.”
“Semantics! You know what else is semantics? This new poem I’m working on! Do you wanna hear?”
Zhongli pinched the space between his eyes, but he didn’t protest as Venti pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table between them.
Before Zhongli knew it, Venti had popped the cork off the bottle and tipped it toward his mouth. Zhongli stopped him just in time to keep him from downing the drink straight from the bottle.
“Have you no manners? Where are your glasses?” Zhongli asked.
“Pah, who needs those? Pedants?”
“Your partner who has graciously agreed to tolerate your idiocy for one night,” Zhongli said.
He summoned two glasses to his hand and set them on the table. Then he took the bottle from Venti and poured each of them adequate amounts of wine. Yellow-amber liquid settled neatly into each glass. Venti dragged his over and sipped some immediately.
“Not bad,” he said. “I can see why you like it so much. Now, about my poetry…”
Zhongli wasn’t really listening. It didn’t feel like one of those nights where they were going to be able to have anything deeper than a surface-level conversation. There were some topics Zhongli could always discuss to the point of practically having them rehearsed, and Venti would probably entertain such topics, as he was never one to completely turn down another person’s interesting story.
Venti read him his poetry.
Zhongli reclined in his seat and enjoyed the taste of the wine.
At some point, they grew silent.
Down below in the city, people danced in pairs to music that sounded faint on Zhongli’s ears. A breeze blew by, tousling banners and the trees above their heads. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of leaves rustling. It wasn’t too cold yet, and being a tropical region, it would always be humid. Even in a foreign nation, nature was so serene.
“…of that expression,” Venti was saying.
Zhongli opened his eyes again.
Venti’s braids glowed in the blue hues of moonlight, casting his face in soft hues. He had that look on his face that spelled trouble.
“Were you mocking me?” Zhongli asked.
“If you must know, I was giving you a genuine compliment, but go ahead and brush little old me off if you want,” Venti said. He wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m used to it by now, I can take it.”
“What did you say?” Zhongli asked.
“It’s lost to the winds now, I’m afraid.”
“You are the wind. Certainly you remember.”
“You sure are stroppy today, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
“It means ‘argumentative’, block head,” Venti laughed.
He threw his head back and lifted the glass to his lips again. Zhongli rolled his eyes and imagined throttling him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him over the table until they were nose to nose, then he’d…
No, it was best not to think of such things.
“I know you think you’re not easily readable, but oh, if only you could see your face right now,” Venti teased.
“Behave,” Zhongli snapped.
Venti stuck out his tongue. “Make me.”
Zhongli set his glass down and rose from his seat. He circled around to Venti’s side of the table and grabbed Venti around his middle. Between one breath and the next, he’d swept Venti up into his arms and shut him up with a thorough kiss. Haughty comments died in Venti’s throat before he could get them out.
This was what Venti had really wanted. Zhongli knew that was the truth when Venti wrapped his arms firmly around Zhongli’s shoulders and giggled. Even once Zhongli had pulled away, Venti stayed close. Close enough that Zhongli could smell the lilies and drink on his lips and feel the tickle of Venti’s braids against his throat.
“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Venti said.
“Mmh,” Zhongli hummed.
“That’s where you say, ‘Me too.’” He impersonated Zhongli’s deep voice when he said it, a jarring sound coming from such a sweet voice.
Zhongli scoffed. He let his guard down long enough to let a genuine smile slip onto his lips. “If I said such a thing to you, you would only hold it over me for the rest of my life.”
“Mmm, perhaps,” Venti replied. Down below, a new song had started. “Mister Zhongli, would you do me the favor of a dance?”
“Perhaps…”
He lowered Venti back onto the ground. He dramatically posed, lowering his hand and extending his hand toward Zhongli. Zhongli took it and swung Venti into a deep bow. They’d long ago removed their outer garments, and had Venti kept the hat on, it certainly would have fallen off.
Had they danced before? Certainly they had. The way their bodies slotted together, the way Zhongli predicted each movement just as it was about to come, was deeply instinctual. He swiftly slid his limbs into the vacant spaces Venti created, moving around each other like pendulums to the same clock. He could not break from Venti’s gaze, reading the surprisingly cool, aloof look in his eyes. It was all show, of course. Venti was anything but distant.
“You’re so handsome, Mister Zhongli,” Venti teased. “If you keep staring at me like that, I’ll heat up!”
Zhongli scoffed but brushed the hair out of Venti’s eyes before he could stop himself. As Venti pressed his face to the crook of his neck and sucked in a deep breath, Zhongli felt the weightless rush of Anemo at his feet and realized that Venti had been dancing on air this whole time. He should have realized; Venti was a far bit shorter than him and it wasn’t supposed to be so easy to glare directly into his eyes. He squeezed Venti’s hands in his grip and felt Venti squeeze in turn.
As the celebrations continued deep into the night, they danced, held tightly, until Zhongli lost track of time.
One sleepy morning in Liyue, Zhongli received a letter from an unfamiliar name hailing from Mondstadt.
Dear Mr. Zhongli,
There’s been an incident…
Venti was bedridden…
Stabbed through the chest.
Not fatal, but recovery has been slow.
He has been asking about you.
Zhongli's first reaction was that it was all either a lie or a joke.
But then he re-read it and only a deep sense of foreboding prevailed.
It had been written by a herald who signed their name as Dahlia. Zhongli had never heard the name before—it was only natural that there were some people he didn't recognize, people Venti worked with and he did not—but the unrecognizable name still added to his feeling of unrest.
He was in Mondstadt's church the next morning.
As it turned out, "Dahlia" was the name of a well-mannered pink-haired man who led Zhongli immediately to Venti's lodgings, a building not far from the church with all the detailing and decoration of every other building in its vicinity.
Dahlia had keys to the house. Zhongli felt a dull pang of jealousy as the boy ushered him inside.
But then the boy left. Zhongli closed the door and navigated the rooms by himself.
He would mull more deeply over them later, but in that moment, he swung open random doors, stalking the hallways a little obsessively, until he found the one he had been searching for.
Leave it to Venti to sleep in a room fit for a king. A giant canopy hung from the ceiling, casting the room in shadow. That was hardly necessary, however, as the large windows had already been completely shuttered. Remembering himself, Zhongli slid off his shoes and approached the side of Venti's bed.
His skin was sheet-white, his hair braided in a crown around the back of his head. Sweat glistened faintly off his forehead and Zhongli pressed the back of his hand against it. His skin felt hot.
It took Venti a second to open his eyes. A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"You came," he whispered.
"Of course," Zhongli replied just as quietly. He reached for Venti's hand; his heartbeat calmed him. "Are you well?"
"I ate something and it didn't agree with me."
"I had been told you'd been stabbed."
"That too, but..."
"What happened? Who did it?"
"Fatui. It's been handled now. I just need to rest..."
"Venti." There was a strain to Zhongli's voice that neither of them liked.
He eased his grip on Venti's wrist, opting instead to stroke the side of his face again. There was still some fat there in his cheeks, the main contributor to his perpetually cherubic smiles. Zhongli really wanted to see one again.
"What do you need from me? Use me as you wish."
"Your company is enough," Venti said.
Zhongli doubted that. In all his long years of combat, there had always been more he could do.
"Let me brew you some tea."
"Actually, I'd..."
Venti opened his mouth, but as Zhongli's eyes turned on him, he went silent again.
"What is it?" Zhongli asked.
"Promise you won't get mad," he said with an awkward quirk of a smile.
"Dandelion wine?" Zhongli asked.
Venti nodded. "It's in the cellar," he said.
"I will be right back."
Venti acknowledged him with a hum, then Zhongli pulled his hand away from him and stood.
Zhongli took more time going through his house this time. He found the kitchen and the tea kettle. He found glasses and the stairs that led down to the wine cellar. And when he walked downstairs to the old wooden door still half-open, Zhongli found enough bottles to stock a small winery.
He picked through the rosés and white wines to the wall in the back full of dandelion. There were labels Zhongli recognized, ones they had drank together long ago. He saw some years stamped on the labels that impressed even him and his long years. He never saw wine this aged in stores or taverns and he didn't take Venti as the sort to have the self-discipline to hold off. And yet he had, somehow. Even Zhongli could learn new things about him after so long.
He pulled the bottle of dandelion wine off the shelf. Then, on his way back, his eye caught on another familiar flavor. He didn't hesitate in picking it up, too, and carrying the bottles and cups back to Venti's room.
Venti was where Zhongli had left him, lying flat on his back with his head turned a little to the side. When Zhongli reentered the room, Venti slowly pulled his upper body up, resting on his forearms.
"What's the second one?" Venti asked.
"I gifted this one to you a while ago," Zhongli said, "a while" being, of course, relative.
"So even you can be sentimental. So you'll be drinking with me?"
"Maybe so," Zhongli said.
Venti's eyes brightened. He tried to sit up again—then winced—as Zhongli set the things down on the bedside table and moved in close to help. He hefted Venti up until his back was against the wall. Venti looked at him with grateful eyes, then outstretched his hand for the cup that Zhongli automatically handed him.
He carefully unscrewed the cork and poured Venti's glass first. He poured his second, then returned the wine to the bedside table.
Not a second later, Venti urged him into bed beside him, and he moved into the space without a second of hesitation.
"Last time," Zhongli murmured, "Your drink reeked even worse than usual. Truly, I'd advise that you stick to dandelion wine if you're going to drink. While it still smells awful, anything is better than that disgusting thing you had last time.”
“Dandelion’s my signature at this point, so it's weird when I have something else, huh?" Venti asked.
"That, and it's misleading to drink 'only one glass' of something when it has a proof of ninety percent."
"Alcohol is alcohol."
"And I like you more when you don’t have any.”
“Always a critic,” Venti huffed. He closed his eyes and grimaced. He leaned into Zhongli’s shoulder, almost spilling his full cup in the process, so Zhongli carefully returned it to the table for the time being.
"I'm glad you wrote to me," Zhongli whispered.
"I am, too."
Venti leaned his head on Zhongli's shoulder. He stared down at Venti's closed eyes, the way the nightshirt clung to his torso, thin enough to see a hint of the bandages underneath. Perhaps he would help Venti change out of them later.
"Will you tell me a story?" Venti whispered.
"What do you want to hear?" Zhongli asked.
"Whatever you want to tell."
"Well..."
Zhongli thought for a moment, then launched into a story, his long, drawling voice for once going uninterrupted.
He was sure Venti found it dreadfully boring, but he never once interrupted him to say so. Perhaps he would have had more interesting things to tell, but Zhongli was satisfied with letting this story serve even the small purpose of putting his beloved to sleep from boredom.